


A Non-Issue

by HigherMagic



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Bottom Will Graham, Canon-Typical Violence, Couch Sex, Creampie, Desperation, Dildos, Dubious Consent, Forced Masturbation, Fuck Or Die, Fucking Machines, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Kidnapping, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Overstimulation, Rescue Missions, Sadism, Someone Help Will Graham, Someone Helps Will Graham, Top Hannibal Lecter, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:34:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25124728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigherMagic/pseuds/HigherMagic
Summary: When Will gets kidnapped, Hannibal comes to the rescue to find Will in a drug-induced fever state. There's no option except to ride it out. Hannibal knows Will must survive, through any means necessary.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 42
Kudos: 708
Collections: NSFW Hannigram, what am I supposed to write here





	A Non-Issue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Evalie3689](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evalie3689/gifts).



> Gifted to Evalie! Thank you so much for helping me with my friend darling <3
> 
> Please be sure to read the tags!

The scent of blood is overpowering, but not unfamiliar. Hannibal's mouth twists as he jerks the knife back through the body of his most recent victim, blood spraying in a rather gratuitous arc across his hands and chest. He mourns, not for the first time, the compromised state of his clothes. He isn't wearing his plastic suit, and at this point there's no saving what he's wearing now.

But that doesn't matter. He can smell, inside, the thing he came here for: Will.

There is one last man in the room with Will. Hannibal pushes through the door that is already half off its hinges, jaw clenching as he takes in the sight. Will is there, as expected, though his current state is _not_ what Hannibal assumed he would find.

He's been secured across what could loosely be called a table, his neck and wrists trapped by stocks to keep him down, his knees bound on raised platforms beside the table. There's a machine plunging a large dildo in and out of him, and a hole in the table through which Hannibal can see his cock, an angry red and drooling come into a chilled jar on the floor.

Will is so out of it he doesn't even flinch at the sound of the door finally giving up its hold on the frame, and crashing to the ground. The stranger in the room whirls on Hannibal with a frantic mix of fear and anger, and glowers at Hannibal. He takes in Hannibal's bloody state, and the long knife in his hand dripping red onto the floor as eagerly as Will's sweat and semen pour from him.

The room stinks of that fevered sweetness, but worse so – drug-induced, Hannibal is sure, and so sharp with ecstatic pain it stings his nose.

"Stay back!" the man yells. He has no weapon that Hannibal can see, but that doesn't mean he's unarmed. Hannibal's lips purse, and he eyes the other man carefully, waiting to see a telltale reach for a gun at his back, or a knife from his pocket.

"I've come to collect him," Hannibal says, nodding to Will. "I will not leave empty-handed."

The man sneers at him. "He's ours now," he says smugly. He touches Will's limp head, earning a small, whining sound, pain and aggravation. Will's fingers curl in the stocks until his knuckles go white. "We got him, fair and square."

Yes, they did. Will's house was a wreck when Hannibal finally took it upon himself to visit his friend, worried over Will's missed appointment and Alana's claim that he wasn't answering his phone. She respects Will's privacy too much to just drop by. Hannibal has no such qualms.

Hannibal's nostrils flare as another orgasm is yanked from Will, and it sounds like he's in pain as he twitches weakly, shuddering like he's going into shock. Even though Hannibal cannot see in detail, he's sure Will is torn and bruised and throbbing, and it's not healthy for someone to be given so much overstimulation at one time. His heart may give out, or his already fevered brain may simply cook itself inside his skull. Drowning in adrenaline and serotonin is as dangerous as water.

"Nevertheless," Hannibal replies coolly. "He wasn't yours to get."

The man's eyes flash with wild, righteous anger, and he lunges for Hannibal, brandishing a weapon more like a club than a knife, though it glints, and is made of metal. Hannibal side steps it and kicks at the man's knee, savagely, viscerally pleased when it snaps back and he collapses with a howl. Hannibal steps up behind him and yanks him up by the hair, knife at his throat.

It's a clean cut, swift and without flair. How unlike himself. But it does the trick.

He leaves the body to cool and his attention is immediately torn as Will groans. He goes to Will, cupping his sweaty face with blood-wet hands. Will's eyes can't focus, his pupils are pinpricks in his hazy eyes. Despite the overpowering arousal Hannibal can smell on him, the drugs they've given Will have put him in fight or flight, and he's no calmer than a cornered animal.

"Will," he murmurs, wondering if Will can even hear him. He's not sure he can, but Will tips his head forward, gracelessly butting his cheeks into Hannibal's hands. Hannibal smiles, despite himself. "It's alright, darling. Let me get you out of here."

He turns the machine off, first, frowning when, as he pulls it from Will's body, he notes that it the dildo is quite large and not nearly slick enough. Will's rim is puffy and looks incredibly sore, heat coming off him in waves. Hannibal can smell blood, though at this point it's hard to tell what is Will's and what is that of his captors.

He unstraps Will's legs and then goes to the stocks. There is a large padlock, which is easily negotiated by one swift downward strike from the metal club the last man tried to maim him with. He lifts the upper half of the stocks. Will's neck and wrists are red from fighting, so bruised they are black and purple in places.

Hannibal, gently, worms an arm under Will's chest and lifts him to his knees. Will is limp as a newborn in his arms, head falling onto his shoulder. He's been stripped naked, and is shivering, barely even able to twitch his fingers or open his eyes as Hannibal carefully settles him down on the floor, and goes to search for his clothes.

He doesn't find clothes he would think are Will's, none of the discarded pile in the corner hold Will's scent, but he finds a pair of trousers that smell clean, and returns to Will with them. He worms Will's feet through the holes and slides them up, and Will twitches, whining with oversensitivity as Hannibal eases them up his thighs, over his hips, and fastens them at the waist.

Will is still hard, his body no less satisfied by his recent orgasm. He's panting and Hannibal can feel his heartbeat in his stomach.

He shrugs off his jacket and wraps it around Will's shoulders, cradling him close, and pushes Will's sweat-soaked hair from his face. "Will, can you look at me?" he murmurs, and doesn't linger too long on how distressed his voice comes out.

Will groans pitifully, and tilts his head towards the sound of Hannibal's voice. He doesn't answer with words, and doesn't open his eyes, but that's enough for Hannibal to assume he's somewhat aware. He was tense, before, and still there is restless shudders through his extremities, but he doesn't fight Hannibal as Hannibal lifts Will into his arms and carries him outside of the abandoned warehouse he had tracked Will's phone to.

It is quite a feat to open the car door without dropping Will or setting him down, but he manages, ignoring the subtle twinge of protest in his back. Will groans again, head tipped against the shoulder of his seat, breathing heavily. Hannibal does his seatbelt and circles around to the driver's side, sighing to himself when he acknowledges that he will have to clean the Bentley thoroughly once this is over.

They are an hour from his own home, and even farther from Will's. It's an easy decision to make – if Will comes to covered in blood and demands to know what happened, and Hannibal confesses he killed no less than half a dozen men to save Will, he may react badly. It would be good to keep him in a familiar environment that Hannibal can control, until he can explain himself and decide where to go from there.

He is very aware that he would do well not to draw attention to himself as he heads back to Baltimore. Police are eager to pull people over and one look inside the car, at Hannibal's blood-soaked clothes and Will, obviously a victim of some terrible trauma, would not end well for either of them. Though it pains him to do it, and the scent of Will's body slowly entering shutdown is stifling in the car, he forces himself to drive slowly and without any risk. It feels like it takes forever before he finally pulls up on the street outside his house.

It's late, so late that it's almost morning the next day. He parks and circles the car to get Will, who while still obviously out of it, seems a little more alert. Will groans softly against his neck as Hannibal wraps his arm below Will's and hauls him out, and through the front door.

Once inside, he carries Will to the study and sets him down. Will grunts, falling back on the couch, blinking up at Hannibal with bleary, half-lidded eyes. "H -." He can't even form the first syllable of Hannibal's name.

Hannibal cups his face and shushes him. "Rest, Will. I'll return shortly," he promises, and goes to the medical supplies he keeps in his basement, to subdue and properly harvest his meals. He fetches towels, wet with cold water, and water for Will to drink, as well as a sedative that will hopefully calm his heart, and a metabolic enhancer which will help his body begin to burn out the effects of the drug.

Will is upright, when he returns, panting heavily, a hand pressed to the bulge in his stolen trousers. He winces, and whimpers, when Hannibal comes to him, and paws at Hannibal's bloody hands.

He frowns down at them, clearly not able to reconcile the shade. "What -?"

"You need to lie back, Will," Hannibal commands him, pushing at his shoulders. Will goes, but grunts, wincing and gritting his teeth. He seems helpless to deny the urge to touch himself, and Hannibal doesn't have enough hands to stop him, as he pulls his jacket off of Will, baring his chest and stomach, and injects him with the sedative, metabolic enhancer, and something to reduce his fever.

Will gasps, goose bumps breaking out down his arms, and blinks up at the ceiling. "Fuck, I -." He moans, biting his lower lip as he manages to figure out how to push his hand below his trousers and touch himself. Hannibal watches, for a moment, enthralled by the animal way Will moves – no coordination, all instinct. Will's hand sinks down, deeper, and he groans as he shoves two fingers inside him, heel of his other hand rutting hard against his trapped erection. "Fuck, I can't -. I'm sorry, I can't stop."

"It's alright, Will," Hannibal soothes. He positions the cold towels and the drinking water close to them on the table, and sits by Will's side. He curls a hand around the nape of Will's neck and brings him upright again. "Do whatever you need. You're safe now."

His fingertips easily find Will's racing pulse, so strong it pounds against his touch like an animal fighting its way free. "When did they start?" Hannibal asks, unable to hide how worried he sounds. If Will has been like this for too long it could be very damaging to his health.

Will grits his teeth, head rolling to one side so he can meet Hannibal's eyes. "I don't know," he rasps. "I -. I got home at nine. I think. And they -." He shudders again, lashes fluttering as he manages to work himself to orgasm. The scent of it is thick, the dark stain on the front of his pants growing larger. Still, Will doesn't stop touching himself.

Hannibal presses his lips together. Almost seven hours, by his best guess. Definitely far too long to be healthy.

"Will," he says gently, reaching forward to touch Will's bruised wrist, to try and ease him away. "You need to slow down."

Will shakes his head, groaning in pain as Hannibal forces one of his hands away. He claws at his own thigh and arcs into his other hand, the wet sounds of him fingering himself almost louder than his breathing. "I _can't_ ," he moans. " _Fuck_."

Hannibal doesn't expect Will to know what they gave him. There are certainly enough brilliant minds in the world, he's sure, to induce arousal this insatiable and painful. Hannibal had found evidence of several others being used this way – for some sick pleasure, for a perverted breeding enterprise, he's not sure.

It doesn't matter, he supposes. None of them can continue, not with how he left them.

Hannibal takes one of the damp towels and presses it to Will's forehead, and the sound of relief Will makes is…rather delicious. He has always been an objectively beautiful man, and now, so sweaty and flushed and raw, Hannibal can't help admire him openly, even as he does his best to cool Will's fever and monitor his heart rate.

"Hannibal, _please_ ," Will moans. "I can't -. It hurts but I can't stop."

Hannibal sighs, and nods to himself. "You need to remain calm," he murmurs. Already Will's fevered skin has warmed the towel, so he changes it out for another. He brings Will forward and holds a glass to his lips, tipping it up. Will chokes, water sloshing down his cheeks and jaw, but he drinks enough that Hannibal is less worried about him outright dying of dehydration.

Less than a moment later, Will has his hands on himself again, graceless and far too rough. Hannibal's lips purse, and he nods again, and stands. Will whimpers audibly in distress, but Hannibal only disappears long enough to take some hand lotion from the guest bathroom, and returns to Will.

"Stop," he commands. Surprisingly, Will does, blinking up at Hannibal with wide, glassy eyes. Hannibal sets the lotion down and sits next to Will. "You're going to hurt yourself if you continue as you are. Let me."

Will eyes him, but doesn't fight as Hannibal unfastens the trousers he stole. Will's erection peeks out from the zipper, an angry red and drooling into his pubic hair. Will manages to lift his hips and help Hannibal ease him out of the rest of his clothes. Hannibal gives him an encouraging smile, and gently coaxes Will to lie back against the pillow on the arm of the couch.

"You can just lock me in a room to ride this out," Will says, slurring. Still, his eyes, dark and hazy though they are, are fixed with laser focus on Hannibal's face. His ability to speak full sentences at all is a good sign, and Hannibal is never one to turn down an indulgence.

"I could," he concedes, "but I think we'll both agree that I should monitor your condition. You are in a very precarious state, Will. I would be remiss if I didn't make sure you were given the best care."

Will's lips twitch, something like a smile, though far too sly. "You're the doctor," he murmurs.

Hannibal stands again, and places another cold towel on Will's forehead. A second, on his chest, to help cool down his core. Will is trembling, with fever and euphoria. Hannibal sits, and Will bites his lower lip _hard_ when Hannibal coaxes his legs apart. His knuckles go white as he grips the cushions of the couch.

"Tell me if you're in too much pain," Hannibal says, as he liberally coats both his hands with lotion. Will's eyes drop to them, his lips parting as he sucks in a breath. His cock twitches against his stomach and it's such a vulnerable position, he's completely unable to hide his reactions.

Hannibal wonders, idly, if it's the sight of blood, or just his hands, or anticipation that is making Will look so eager. There is no trace of fear in any part of his trembling body as Hannibal slicks his fingers, and eases one inside of Will, as his other hand wraps around Will's cock.

Will throws his head back, gasping raggedly, nails dragging against the leather. He's wonderfully responsive, and Hannibal fights back a smile as he runs his thumb up the underside of Will's cock to the dripping-wet head, the rest of his fingers maintaining a sure grip as he strokes him slowly. Will's prostate is swollen, inside him, easy to locate. He circles it with a slow motion, relishing how Will heaves and quivers beneath the onslaught.

"Oh, _God_ ," Will cries, a fist flying to his hair and pulling hard. The stain of red on his cheeks has now thoroughly embedded itself in his chest, and his belly. He's burning hot and clenching down hard on Hannibal's finger, hips twitching in aborted, helpless thrusts as he seeks more. Still, Hannibal can feel how swollen he is, and remains gentle. "Oh, God, Hannibal, _fuck_ , please -. Please, harder, I need it."

And, well, who is Hannibal to deny him?

He works in a second finger and rubs them over Will's prostate, curling more than circling. Will writhes against the couch, sweat making him stick to the leather and peel off in pieces. He's shattering at the core, utterly destroyed by so little. Hannibal tightens his grip on Will's cock, and knows the lotion is appreciated, though it is absorbed quickly by Will's fever-warm, red flesh.

There are tears in Will's eyes and his teeth are bared as Hannibal works him to orgasm, and despite how many times he's come, he manages another impressive amount, spilling messy and sticky-wet over his tense stomach. He clamps down around Hannibal's fingers so tightly that Hannibal goes still, waiting for him to recover.

The clenching lasts for far longer than expected, aftershocks rolling through Will's shuddering body. The sounds he makes are affecting Hannibal, despite himself. He shifts his weight and swallows, tamping down his own reaction to having Will, spread open and helpless and so, so beautiful.

Will whimpers, and paws at his shoulder, gazing up at him once he manages to wrench his eyes open. "This is killing me," he breathes.

Hannibal's jaw clenches. "I won't let that happen."

"No, I mean -." Will shakes his head, growling as, again, he rolls his hips, helplessly seeking. He hasn't softened at all. "Come here."

Hannibal's brows rise, but he pulls his fingers out and allows Will to pull him close, and over, and between his legs. Will rears up and kisses him, fingers weak in his hair, clawing at his neck, his shoulders, his flanks. Despite how exhausted Will is, he kisses like this is a last one, like he's about to die. Hannibal cups Will's skull and Will moans, arching up against him, panting when he has to break the kiss and fight for air.

The towel on Will's forehead slips off and Hannibal presses his own to the damp skin it revealed. Will _feels_ like he's cooling down. Perhaps that's an illusion, or wishful thinking, or both. But Will's eyes are sharper, too, and his heartbeat doesn't feel quite as erratic.

"I want you inside me," Will says. Hannibal sucks in a breath, feels Will's thighs tighten around his hips. "Please. I always come so hard when -."

He stops, blushing. Hannibal's head tilts.

Another time, he decides.

He smiles, and kisses Will again, pleased by how eagerly Will takes it, meets him, deepens it. "I'm not sure you're completely able to consent right now, Will," he murmurs.

Will barks out a laugh. "You've already jerked me off," he snaps. "Seems kind of like a non-issue now. If anything, I'm forcing _you_."

Even as he speaks, his hands have gained enough coordination to slip between their stomachs. Hannibal's clothes, crusted with blood, are easy to tear at until Will can wrap a warm, sweaty hand around him. And then hiding how affected he is becomes impossible.

"It'll hurt," Hannibal warns. Promises. _Hopes_.

"I don't care," Will growls.

Hannibal nods, and kisses him again. He helps Will rid him of his clothes, until they're both bare, and Will looks at him like a starving man might gaze upon a fresh meal. It's a feeling Hannibal knows well – hunger, a deep and driving force as primal as fear or rage.

He puts more lotion on his hand and wraps it around his cock, so much that it drips onto the couch. He'll have to thoroughly clean this, too. Not that he minds, when this is the reason.

"Yes, _fuck_ yes," Will gasps, reaching for him. Hannibal cups his thighs and moves him to a better position, folded up against the armrest so that he can pin Will down and mount him thoroughly. Will kisses him and kisses him and _whines_ as Hannibal pushes in, toes curling against Hannibal's calves, and it's one of the most beautiful things Hannibal has ever witnessed, ever heard. Watching Will fall apart under him, feeling how he spasms and clenches and hearing him _moan_ will be a treasured memory in his mind palace for the rest of time.

He cups Will's face and kisses him as Will whimpers, muscles locking up as he clenches and spasms, shuddering as he comes again. He collapses, after, sweaty and breathless, a wide, fucked-out smile on his face.

He touches Hannibal's jaw, idly, with the backs of his fingers, and sighs; "We're going to have to talk about all that blood on you, Doctor Lecter." Hannibal stills, meeting Will's eyes. "How…easily you killed all those men."

Hannibal clears his throat.

Will's lashes lower, his eyes dark. They are slowly getting clearer, pupils growing wide to suit what Hannibal would liken to an aroused man. Still, there is no fear in Will, in his expression or his scent.

"After," Will adds, and tightens his legs around Hannibal's hips. "I'm not done with you yet."

Hannibal cannot help how he smiles, relieved, as Will eagerly beckons him close, and kisses him as passionately as he has so far, and embraces Hannibal with every piece of himself. By the time Hannibal cannot hold on a second longer, and bruises Will's hips and fills him to bursting, Will has finally started to soften, after coming once more.

He sighs, heavy and contented, and mouths gently at Hannibal's throat. Now, Hannibal's pulse feels much faster than Will's. "Thank you," he breathes. "For…everything."

"I -." He hesitates. He wants to say something along the lines of that he wouldn't have even considered another option. That the idea of Will being taken away from him forever insults him more than anything else. That Will is his, wholly, that those criminals' fates were sealed the moment they set their eyes on Will.

He doesn't. The look in Will's eyes tells him he doesn't have to.

"Shower?" Will suggests, arching a brow.

Hannibal huffs, sheepishly, and nods. Pulling out of Will is like tearing open sutures. Will is obviously very sore, and gaping. The sight of his come leaking out of Will's aching body is incredibly satisfying.

Will smiles at him, smug and sly, and allows Hannibal to help him to his feet, and up the stairs.


End file.
